Origins: We all have History
by starscraper
Summary: My own story of how the guys met years before Inception... read if you like JGL and Tom Hardy in uniforms! Eames/Arthur-centric, but no slash! CHAPTER 6 REDONE!
1. Chapter 1

**After just writing fluff for the fangirl's soul I need to write something with more action****, respectively a longer and more complex storyline. So here it is, hope you like it…**

**Disclaimer: obviously nothing you recognize from the movie is mine – everything else though belongs to me…**

**A/N: um, since I'm German I don't know too much about the U.S. Army or army related stuff in general, please correct me if you find mistakes. I'm trying my best to get everything right.**

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**Arthur smiled as he packed the shiny photographs in an envelope and sealed it carefully – he imagined his father to be proud, his mother crying a little when she saw him in that uniform, all grown up and handsome, perhaps his sister would start a discussion about how awful the army was, how dare they play world police and so on. But never the less they would put the pictures on the mantelpiece next to the other ones showing faces he had never seen smiling at him apart from those photos for most of those people had died on battlefields through the decades. Nearly everyone in his family had been with the army at some stage in their life, decorated officers such as his father and grandfather or others who had left in dishonor such as his uncle.

Arthur buttoned up his jacket and left for his next appointment. One that would probably decide over his future life.

The University building didn't look as impressive as he had thought it would, a two-story complex bleached under the Texas sun sporting flags hanging lackadaisically in the heat. The front doors were massive, signaling beyond doubt that what was said inside would stay inside. Arthur felt sweat trickle down his back beneath the dark blue Air Force uniform. Although he had only joined recently coloured tags lined his jacket already and his squad leader had recommended him to some brass hat for this unique project. He only knew it was top secret and during the prep talks he had felt like he was part of a cliché action movie, signing contracts that forbade him to tell anyone where he was, what he did, whom he met or what he heard for the next few months. His family believed he was on an air craft carrier training somewhere in the Atlantic. Arthur wouldn't see them again soon, and he also knew of the possibility that he would probably never see them again, depending on this project. Adjusting his jacket one last time he took a deep breath and went up the steps, escaping from the blazing sun as the large front doors closed behind him.

The lobby was cool and a lot more magnificent than the outside of the building. Marble floors, high pillars lining the far end and elaborate staircases leading to the upper floor. Everything was empty, which alarmed Arthur a little. Surely the army wouldn't let her prestige project completely unprotected?

"Sir, this way please." A tall woman stepped out from the shadows. She was obviously a civilian, not addressing him with his rank. "The Audimax is along here. If you would follow me, please?"

Silently he walked behind her and listened to the sound of their steps echoing through the lobby. A double wing door at the far end of the hall was open, soft humming of voices leaked into the silence. A sign told Arthur that this was the 'Auditorium Maximum', the biggest lecture hall of the building.

"Your information, Sir." She pushed a thick manila folder into his hands and disappeared into the dimly lit corridor.

Hesitating, Arthur went a few steps into the lecture hall, very similar to the ones at college. Just that it was – grand, huge, the walls fading into darkness. Civilians in dark suits lined the centre aisle.

"Just take a seat, Sir." One of them told him and pointed to an empty seat in the middle of an already well filled row. "Thanks." Arthur said in a low voice and rolled the manila folder to give his nervous hands a task. Mumbling his excuse he inched past military in foreign uniforms until he reached his destination, sinking into the soft plush chair.

"Hey." The man to his left greeted him.

"Hi." Arthur said and shook the hand the stranger offered him.

It was a British naval officer, his uniform heavy with medals despite his face suggesting he was no older than 25.

"Eames, and forget the ranks. I muddle them up every time, anyway."

"Arthur."

"Eames is my last name. Bother sharing yours?" He grinned, Arthur could just make that out in the darkness.

"Not really." He said coolly and straightened his tie.

"Oooh. A little touchy, are we?"

Arthur remained silent. The French guy to his right solved a Sudoku. Down on the podium someone switched on a little lamp for the lecturer and dimmed the lights in the Audimax even further.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome Professor Dr. Miles Dawson of the Sorbonne University, Paris, chairman of the Faculty for Architecture and pioneer in the field of Dreamsharing. He will introduce you to the technique of shared dreaming, its purposes and benefits and your training."

A man in dark trousers and tweed jacket entered the stage. His hair was already beginning to show some grey strands, the half moon spectacles reflected the light of the office lamp before him. Professor Dawson cleared his throat.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to this very special day. None of you will have heard of Dreamsharing before, which shows how well we are coping with keeping this technique what it should be – secret, only available to those it should be available to. It is fascinating, of course, holds great potential, obviously, and is dangerous, believe me. Not only physical danger that is implied in everything criminals want to lay their hands on, but also the danger of losing one's mind. Slowly but steadily you can get addicted to it, and it will destroy your body and brain as Heroine does. I am not saying this to keep you away, that would not help me on my mission. I am telling you because you have the right to know what risks you are going to take. Many of those establishing the technique of shared dreaming have gone, - well – bonkers by the time they had finished training." He paused effectively.

"You have been chosen among the brightest heads of your country's armed forces. And I believe that you – not all of you, but one out of ten – will complete training successfully."

Arthur discreetly glanced at Mr. Eames, who was listening spellbound.

"Basic training will take place the next nine months in Camp Erne in Nevada. You will be set up in groups of ten supervised by military scientists. It is our aim to turn you into the most skilled extractors. Depending on your talent you will be given extra tuition relating to forgery, logistics, chemistry and architecture. Being an extractor means entering other people's minds trough their dreams to extract information. Further details have been handed to you as you entered this room."

Arthur noticed most of the people shuffling through their manila folders exactly the same as his own. He didn't bother to open it, there would be time for that later. The French guy dropped his and cursed quietly while bending over his polished shoes to gather the papers. To Arthur's surprise Mr. Eames was also refusing to look into his folder.

"We're going to Las Vegas…" Mr. Eames whispered.

"Um, actually, we're going to Nevada. Vegas _is_ in Nevada, but I don't think we will spend our time gambling." Arthur corrected him.

Mr. Eames raised an eyebrow and stopped chewing on his biro. "Eh? I didn't fly across that fucking ocean to stay away from Black Jack tables."

"Camp Erne is in the middle of nowhere, I don't see any possibility to sneak off to Vegas without anyone noticing. And I doubt we will have a field day to enjoy ourselves."

"I'm sure you don't even _know_ how to enjoy yourself." Mr. Eames grinned. "But I'm bloody well going to Vegas, and so is Ronnie." He knocked the man in front of him over the head with his manila folder.

The uniform turned round, a lean young man with red hair and floppy ears. A little clumsy in his movements he knocked the cap out of the hands of an American soldier.

"Major, Commander – "The Officer turned to Ronnie "Lieutenant. The three of you are on my list from now on. Consider yourselves as closely watched, gentlemen."

"Yes, Sir!" Arthur stiffened. Getting told off by a Major General on your first day was probably not the best tactic to get through the following nine months.

"Got that." Mr. Eames winched. "Ronnie, you heard him. Behave." He grinned. Ronnie turned back facing the front, but Arthur was sure he heard him mumble some not very nice names in Gaelic for the Major General.

* * *

After Professor Dawson had explained a little more about Dreamsharing they were dismissed with the order to assemble in the same room at 10 pm. again.

Arthur stretched and waited patiently for the others to leave their row. Commander Eames simply climbed over the chairs and made his way out behind a group of female Swedish Officers.

In the lobby someone had set up a cold buffet nearly disappearing behind dark clouds of uniforms. Arthur watched the bustling crowd and flicked through his manila folder. It contained maps of Camp Erne, thick papers with job specifications labeled 'Forger', 'Architect', 'Extractor, 'Point Man', 'Chemist' and instruction manuals. On top he found letters explaining the purpose of this training, an event for NATO-soldiers from around the world. There was also a red sheet listing the risks. Arthur sighed and shut the folder. He would have enough time to read all that in whichever vehicle would take them to Camp Erne.

"So, what's your speciality?" someone asked behind him, and he didn't have to turn to know it was Commander Eames.

"I don't know yet." Arthur lied, hoping to get out of the conversation.

"I'm aiming for forger." Commander Eames said. "That would be turning my avocation into my profession."

"I'm sorry, your avocation?" Arthur asked in disbelief. The man forged in his free time?

"I'm sure they have thesauruses here, avocation should be listed under 'a'." The Brit mocked.

"I am perfectly capable of working out what avocation means. Consider telling me what you forge?"

"Anything, really. They chucked me out of school for forging reports. Nowadays it's mostly poker chips, medical certificates… love letters are twenty pounds a page. Interested?" Commander Eames emptied his drink.

"No thanks." Arthur replied.

"No gal?" His counterpart wanted to know.

"No. Didn't anyone notice your forging until now?" Somehow this cheeky Officer intrigued him.

Commander Eames smirked. "Sure as hell they did."

"And?"

"That's why I'm here."

Arthur gulped. "You didn't get dishonorably discharged?"

"No."

"But forging is highly illegal!"

"Let me sum you up, Arthur." Commander Eames said slowly. "You don't gamble, you always toe the line, you follow your commanding Officer like a puppy follows his lordling, you don't have a girl, you are not involved in illegal activities – I think I know your speciality."

"And that would be?"

Commander Eames tapped Arthur's manila folder with his right index finger. "See if they have a job specification for 'Stick in the Mud'. It would suit you."

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Hooray, chapter 1 finished. How was it? Not too many mistakes, I hope. Leave a review if you liked it, it would brighten my mood a great deal.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Glad you liked the last chapter, so here is nr. 2. Just something in general about the characters: they may appear OOC, but that is on purpose. I share the belief that Arthur is not the smartass-suit-wearing-cold-blooded-self-confident-white-collar-criminal right from the beginning, so we have to take him there. In this story he is around 22, Eames is roughly 24, and before you start thinking that Eames is the undisciplined gambler he appears to be in the movie – he is not. I think that he is a very disciplined, hard working, highly decorated for a purpose Officer not giving a damn about others and showing his confidence by pushing other people's buttons. Long story short: Commander Eames shows Arthur that you don't only work for the military, but the military can work for you, that self confidence pays off and badass guys always get the pretty girls. I hope you get along with that ;-) **

The plane landed somewhere between 4 a.m. and breakfast, Arthur didn't even bother to check his watch. It had been cold inside the aircraft and now he was shivering, clinging on to his baggage while they lined up on the endless tarmac blurring its seams with the desert around them. He knew Nevada nights could be freezing, this was just an idea of what was still to come. Most of the men were tired and responded in hushed voices to their names being called. The flickering orange of crooked street lamps mixed with the bright flashing indicator lamps. The air base buildings behind them were suggestive of emptiness for the last years.

A yawning Colonel ushered them towards a complex of bungalows, supposedly dorms, crowded together like a flock of sheep in the middle of a vast open space.

"Two to a room!" The Colonel shouted and started reading out names again, pairing up complete strangers for the next nine months. Arthur found he shared his room with a Major around his own age. The guy was the quiet type, setting up a picture of his girlfriend as soon as he had opened his bag.

Arthur unpacked silently.

"She's cute, huh?" Turner, his roommate, asked.

"Um, yeah." Arthur mumbled and shoved his hands in his pockets. The girl had long, wavy brown hair and smiled innocently at whoever had taken the photograph. "Lucky you."

"Thanks." Turner lied down on his bed. "I'll have the alarm set for breakfast at 7:30, is that ok with you?"

"Sure." Arthur shrugged off his jacket and loosened the tie. Turner was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, and Arthur decided to get some sleep as well before training started tomorrow (technically today). Before the world turned black he prayed that the disgruntled Major General wouldn't show up too soon. And if he did, god grant that he ran into Commander Eames first.

* * *

Breakfast didn't brighten Arthur's mood, although it was a vast variety of food and beverages and absolutely delicious for army standards. Most nations stayed for themselves on the long tables, not only the demure interior had whipped away yesterday's splendor but also the fact that everyone wore camouflage suits or simple service dress and was more or less tired. Arthur caught a glimpse of Commander Eames and his comrades. Although dressed down to a white shirt with tie and rank insignia he stilled looked like someone to better not mess with.

After breakfast they filed into a lecture hall not quite the size of yesterday's. A British Officer mainly repeated what had been said in Texas, adding on some bits of information and missing out on the part mentioning the risks before setting them up in groups of ten. No regards to nationality were made and so Arthur ended up in "Squad Davis" named after their tutor, Macaulay Davis, with two other Americans, a French, Commander Eames and Lieutenant McAsh, two Officers from Canada and two from Germany . Davis was one of the few civilian scientists around as there was just not enough trained military personnel available.

They gathered in a little room very much like a classroom at High School. Davis seemed a little nervous. He started to relax as Commander Eames rolled up his sleeves and took off the tie.

"So, welcome, gentlemen. This going to be your first lesson, just theory," He looked at Arthur "but I guess you do a great amount of theoretical work before flying a jet plane. Or drive a tank." Davis added in the direction of the two Germans.

"As you will have all read this is one of the biggest projects ever launched by the NATO, training promising young Officers in Dreamsharing. Take a close look at the man to your left – and now at the man to your right. Nine of you will leave us during the next months and weeks as we increase the intensity of training, at least that's what the statistics say. One out of ten stays sane enough to be a professional Extractor once training is completed."

"What do you mean by 'sane enough'?" Eames interrupted.

"Sharing dreams and intruding other people's subconscious, where we store away our most private thoughts, memories and secrets is a process that will drive everyone mad after a certain time. Imagine, I broke into your mind and stole something from you, hurt you in your most vulnerable spot – how would that make you feel? On the other hand, switching between dreams and reality on a daily basis doesn't exactly help you keep track of things. What's real and what's made up?" Davis looked at Eames over his glasses. "That, gentlemen, is a threat highly underestimated."

The room was silent.

"But before we plunge into the vast depths of dangers that lie within this great technology, let me show you the world of the dream." And with that he pulled out a silver briefcase which would from now on be the constant companion of two people in the room – only they didn't know yet.

**Sorry this was a little lame, but honestly, how authentic are those stories where you have action from the first sentence to the last not giving credit to logic or setting? Now that we have the outlines though, we will gather speed quickly and launch ourselves into the universe of Extraction, Action and Eames' horrible civilian shirts (c'mon, what fic would that be if it didn't feature their unique styling?). So fasten your seatbelts and stop smoking…**

**Actually I found a mistake in the last chapter: Sweden is not part of the NATO, got that mixed up with the ISAF. Sorry!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello again, me again. Thanks for reading, reviewing, favouriting and so on… PLEASE give me feedback on this story, it's difficult to write if you don't know what people out there think!**

Arthur ploughed through the mashed potatoes with his fork and lined the sausages up without even considering eating them. It stood to reason that his stomach was still upset after being literally executed by his tutor as the others had crumpled to the floor with neat holes between the eyes. "Last man standing." Davis had joked before pulling the trigger. They had been told that getting killed would only wake them up, but looking down the barrel of a gun, feeling the gush of air as the bullet left its encasement and that split second before it hit its target was more than enough to reveal the basic instincts everyone had, that will to survive, and it took Arthur everything to not panic in contemplation of death. Ok, maybe he was being a little lofty. But it surprised him a great deal that although he thought of himself as a good soldier (death was his business) he was so afraid of kicking the bucket after everything he had gone through only months ago.

"_Gentlemen, this is our final destination." Davis said, turning around and locking the massive door with steel bolts as thick as Rambo's upper arm. "In here we are safe – at least for the time being. The soldiers you saw outside were of course not real, but projections of your subconscious. I am the dreamer, that means I set the dreamscape up, you fill it with your projections. That would not be a problem if your subconscious wouldn't bother with being hacked. But it does, so it defends itself against whoever is trying to break in. Your projections do that for you. Simple plan: they kill the dreamer, the dream collapses, you wake up. Very efficient way of knocking the whole thing on the head." Davis looked around into the nervous faces of the ten Officers taking in their first shared dreaming._

"_So to speak your projections are your security while you are asleep. Clear to everyone?" They nodded silently, listening to the Camp noises outside._

"_There are two ways of leaving a dream if you can't put an end to it externally." Davis went on, pulling out a Beretta M9 and inserting the magazine. "Either your run out of time – the time you set on the PASIV before going under – or you die. Who kills you doesn't matter. Could be someone's berserk subconscious, your team mates or yourself."_

"_Does it 'urt?" The French guy asked with a sceptical glance at the Beretta._

"_The shock is greater than the pain, and as you are all well trained in using weapons you will know that a clean shot in the head is one of the fastest ways to die. Your brain turns to jelly before your CNS knows what's happening." Davis clicked the safety. "But because you're asking: have you ever had a dream where someone hurt you? You will have realized that you feel that pain nearly as strong as in reality. That's just how it works here. Any injury you suffer in a dream hurts. Pain is created in the mind to tell the brain that something is going really wrong, so when your brain is suggested to feel pain, it does. Clear?" They nodded._

"_Very well. Now comes one of the least enjoyable parts. I am going to shoot you in order to wake up. Ok?"_

"_Why can't we just wait for the time to run out?" Commander Eames asked, a little uneasy at the thought of being killed._

_Macaulay Davis smiled and spread his arms gesturing around them. "Because then the dream will collapse. Ever been hit by a concrete bunker ceiling?" Eames shook his head. "Exactly. I like it quick and easy." Davis concentrated back on his weapon. "Now, any volunteers to go first?"

* * *

_

"You look horrible, Arthur." Commander Eames sighed as he set down his tray opposite to the daydreaming Major.

"I do? I just survived my own execution, thank you very much."

"And what about me then?" Eames started eating as if their adventure earlier that day had been a walk in the park.

"That's not the same." Arthur mumbled, poking his sausages.

Eames quirked an eyebrow. "Mind elaborating on that?"

Rolling his eyes, Arthur put down his fork ruggedly and wiped his face with the other hand. "That gun pointing at you. I – I lived long enough to hear the shot, and it – it reminded me of… of Afghanistan a year ago." Eames listened, chewing slowly.

"We were supposed to raze this complex of buildings to the ground, nothing out of the ordinary. But they were prepared, a lot better than we expected and they got two of us down. I don't remember much, just… being hauled up and taken somewhere. Next picture is a camera pointing at us. Then I had a black out. The last thing I remember is that they put us up against a wall, and they shot the men down next to me, one after the other, with that goddamn camera recording, and I looked down the barrel and I thought 'That's it, that was life, say your goodbyes', suddenly everything was chaos and flashlights and gunfire. The bullet just grazed my skin. Then I woke up in hospital."

Eames had stopped chewing all together and stared at Arthur.

"Uncle Sam must be really desperate – sending kids to war!" He shook his head. "I believe your reaction is understandable, then."

"Let's not talk about it, ok?" Arthur started poking around in his mashed potatoes again.

"Yeah, sure. Is that where you got those medals from?"

"Some of them, yes."

"Ah."

The sat in silence, listening to the typical staff cantine noises.

"Why do you actually always hang around with me?" Arthur asked after shoving his plate in Eames' direction, offering him a second helping.

"You just have something about you – dunno. Something that reminds me of myself, I guess."

"What an explanation." Arthur scoffed and stood up. "See you after lunch, then."

When they filed into the classroom, Davis had already set up a second practice run.

"Gentlemen, welcome back. Find yourself a seat, we'll get started as soon as you're ready." He bent over the PASIV cases and disconnected them from each other.

"Now." He began after they had settled down, "Our dream earlier today has shown you the rough outlines of your job. You enter a dream, you steal what you need, you leave the dream. Before you learn anything else, you need to feel comfortable with that. Forget about Extraction, forget about the subconscious, forget about projections. All I want you to do is go in and out of a dream for the next hours, make yourself acquaint with that."

He handed around the tubes and needles. "You will go into the dream in groups of two, that makes it easier to practice. Following is your task: Go in, shoot yourself or your partner, wake up, go back under. Simple as that. I'll stay and make sure you stay safe. Clear?"

They nodded, slipping the needles and wriggling in their seats to find a more comfortable position.

"As soon as you're in the dream, the dreamer can think of any kind of weapon he wants. So choose wisely. And no mucking about, please." With that he walked from PASIV to PASIV, pushing the centre button.

Arthur found himself in a vast, grey space stretching from horizon to horizon, even the sky was grey.

"You have a lousy imagination." Eames declared. "Come here, we'll get that over with quickly." He stretched out his hand and Arthur handed him the rifle. Seconds later, he was back in the classroom, panting frantically.

"Everything ok?" Davis asked.

"Yeah." Arthur looked around. "Yeah, everything's fine." Eames stretched next to him.

"Good. Then back you go."

This time Eames was the dreamer, landing them in a Casino. Well, at least what was supposed to be a Casino. There were only two types of gamblers, the macho type with exquisite suits and blonde sex bombs in red dresses. The tables all stood in weird angles, resembling a casino but not quite succeeding in creating the illusion.

"Wow." Eames said. "Game of Black Jack?" Arthur shook his head.

"Come on, we haven't got all day." He said, not quite as afraid of being shot than earlier.

"Poker?" Eames asked and converted all the tables into Poker tables. The gamblers looked at them, slowly rising from their seats and coming closer.

"Eames, for goodness' sake, get a move on!" Arthur shouted as the projections closed in.

Again, he awoke with a start, sweating, his heart beating furiously.

"What the hell was _that_?" He spat at Eames, who sat up a little bewildered.

"I don't know, something seemed to have pissed them off." He said.

"Ah, you met your projections. Not a very nice thing. But we'll learn how to deal with that tomorrow." Davis chuckled and sent them back under.

* * *

Arthur returned to his room that night feeling like a drunkard in the state of slowly sobering up. Switching between dreaming and waking had been difficult and the uncertainty if this was real or not wrapped around him like fog that cradled the coastline in the early hours of morning. He understood what Professor Dawson had said: staying sane was the crucial point. Secretly Arthur thought that Macaulay Davis was showing signs of mental disorder, but on the other hand he was a brilliant teacher and Arthur wouldn't dare to question his methods. He fell asleep listening to the soft snoring of Major Turner. It was a fretful sleep, black and dreamless save the occasional muzzle flash that lit up now and then.

**Thanks to The Swim Chick who told me that totems were invented by Mal! So I redid this chapter once again, a little shorter now, but it's actually better that way I figured. You'll see why in the next chapter. ****It's really hard to think up the lessons, how would you teach someone Extraction? I figured they would get accustomed to the dream first, then learn how projections work, how your subconscious is a factor, then how you make up a dream, how you break into someone's mind, then how you steal things, and in the end extra tuition relating to forgery etc… how does that sound? One by one the guys are going to drop out, which will leave only a few talented Extractors in the end. If you thought Arthur's Afghanistan story was over the top: my boyfriend's cousin spent some of his service in Iraq at the tender age of 19, so it could well be possible that Arthur earned his spurs in Afghanistan, couldn't it? Please let me know what you think, I appreciate constructive criticism!**


	4. AN

A/N: I am sooo very sorry for not having updated fort he last week. But I will do as soon as possible. The assignment is handed in, University has started, the whole aggro is over – I promise to upload a new chapter to every story before the weekend comes around :-) just to let you guys know!


	5. Chapter 5

**Uh, I'm horrible at keeping promises. ****Isn't it logical that the internet breaks when my parents are away on holiday? My dad tried to explain via phone how to get it back on – honestly, I suck at technical stuff. That's why I study past centuries without things like routers, WLAN and stuff. Gna. But here we are, new chapter for you amazing guys :-) **

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"This, Gentlemen, is our last practice run on projections. I must inform you that you will drop out of training should you not succeed in this task." Davis handed out the PASIV tubes. "Groups of two, usual pairing. To supervise you and judge your performance I will go in with you together with Major General Reed and Major General Bernstein."

Two uniforms stepped out of the shadows that the blinds through on the room.

Arthur recognised the first as the brasshead that had dressed them down in the Auditorium in Texas. It seemed far away, from a different life, although it was only three weeks ago.

"Ready?" Arthur hurried to get the needle in. Davis paced from chair to chair, making sure everything was in order.

"Major Darling, Commander Eames – you are up first." Davis inserted his own needle as did the two Major Generals. Some nameless adjutant pushed the red centre button sending them to sleep with a soft hiss.

Arthur found himself in a fairly distinct surrounding. Crooked bedframes with thin, dirty mattresses. Loud voices. The smell of carbolic and bandages. Of blood and tears. Crying children. Talking men. Chatting women. Nurses rushing by dressed in civilian white clothes, clutching syringes, cotton pads or cups of tea, shoving their way through the packed hospital ground floor.

Eames pulled him into a corner.

"This your dream?"

"Think so." Arthur said quietly.

"Well, I've never been to any Arabian country, so obviously this is something from in there." He tapped a finger on Arthur's temple.

"Let's get moving. I guess the two Major Generals are taking their gongs for a walk somewhere here." Eames made his way through the Afghani civilians hiding his rifle under his camouflage jacket.

Arthur didn't move. He stared at the projection of a little boy sitting on the edge of his bed, one hand burned, the other missing two fingers.

"Merhaba." The little one said, looking up to Arthur with big brown eyes.

"Merhaba." He replied.

"Issm Adil." The boy said and kept his gaze fixed on Arthur's uniform.

"Merhaba Adil. Issm Arthur."

"Hal anta min Kabul?" Adil asked, gripping the sheets with his three fingered hand.

"La." Arthur shifted his rifle. "Ana min… ana min…"

"Arthur for heaven's sake! We have no time for chats." Eames appeared next to him and started dragging him along the corridor, away from the little boy who never stopped looking at them until they had passed a corner and headed towards the open front doors.

"A friend of yours?" The Brit asked as they politely made room for a group of nurses pushing a wheeled trolley down the corridor.

"He's dead." Arthur simply replied. "We found him outside our camp. He had been playing with a dud. Lost him three fingers and scorched his right hand to the bone. In hospital they discovered internal bleeding. I talked to him until he died the same day."

"Ouch." Eames said and loaded his rifle.

"Yeah." Arthur did the same, looking back over his shoulder. "Though I'll never forget those eyes. Adil Allatif. Aged six." With one fierce tug he had the safety off and the expression on his face made Eames feel uneasy. Very uneasy.

* * *

Their task was simple – at least it sounded simple. They would try and extract a six digit number from Davis, as they had practised for the last three weeks. They knew exactly how to do it. Find Davis' camp, get to the centre, take the slip of paper and kill them selves. Routine.

His subconscious was militarised, but nothing out of the ordinary, they had gotten used to it by now.

"Darn, I can't find anything." Eames lowered the binoculars. "No flag, no camp, zip."

Arthur rubbed his forehand with one hand.

"Dunno where else to look."

"Wait a sec." Eames smiled. "What if it's not Davis we're looking for? What if it's Reed or Bernstein?"

"What would distinguish them from Davis?"

"Mh…" Eames opened the zipper of his jacket.

"Maybe their military background?" Arthur thought out loud. "Davis is civilian. He never visited a battlefield, at least not that I know. His camps were always easy to detect, easy to seize, that would be fatal in war. We are looking for two Major Generals with service in Iraq and Afgahnistan."

"I heard Reed has a favour for underground hideouts." Eames smirked.

"So we need a building that is stable enough to stand above catacombs. Ventilation system. A network of lookouts in surrounding buildings. Escape exits big enough to let everyone out in case of an emergency. Let's go." Arthur gave his partner a grin and set off in direction of Kabul's destroyed centre.

"Very good, Major Darling." Davis' voice crackled through the headphones inside their helmets.

"Major Darling?" Arthur ignored Eames abrupt burst of laughter. Not that Eames was any better.

* * *

They found the building quickly. Concrete walls, telltale gleaming metal funnels and not many projections around.

Accessing the house was easy. An open door led to a staircase descending into the depths of a dingy basement. To their surprise it was completely empty save a table and a slip of paper with a six digit number. 8-5-6-9-2-0.

"Oh, good. Seems we'll be back soon enough for a second breakfast." Eames chuckeld and handed the paper to Arthur who tucked it away.

"I would not be too sure of that." A group of American soldiers filed in through the door. The squad leader kicked it shut with his heel and kept on chewing gum as if this was a walk in the park.

"Hey boys." Eames tried, giving them a little salute.

"Um, you think you could just let us pass, Captain – er –" Arthur squinted to read the name tag. "Captain Hanks?"

The Captain just shook his head.

"I am a Major in the U.S. Air Force and I demand that you let us pass, Captain, otherwise this will have consequences." Arthur put all the authority in his voice that he could manage.

Captain Hanks just smirked and readjusted the rifle.

"Consequences, is that so?"

The room was silent for a few seconds.

"On the contrary, Major. If you don't give us that information it will have consequences for you. And someone you love dearly."

"Listen!" Eames stepped in. "Just let us…"

"Who asked you, Commander Limey?" Hanks took one threatening step in their direction.

"Don't let them get you, Major, Commander – just react as we trained." Davis gave his advice.

Arthur took two deep breaths and clicked his safety off.

"Bad idea." Hanks scoffed and yanked the door open. Two soldiers dragged in a fragile looking woman in white nursing dress, her long black hair falling onto her shoulders, the white head scarf loosely caressing her neck. Her face was hidden by a black hood.

One of them tore the hood away, and from one second to the next Arthur's world crumbled.

"Charlotte!" He screamed, trembling and clutching the rifle.

His sister's face was bruised, but she was ok. For now.

"Arthur, my god, why do I have American soldiers pillaging the hospital of an American NGO?"

"They did what?" he was speechless.

Hanks drowned Charlotte's next sentence with his large hand over her mouth.

"Shut the fuck up. Both of you. What I want you to do, Major, is put down that paper and your rifle. Argh!"

Charlotte had bitten him in the hand.

"This isn't real, Charlotte, don't worry. We're in a dream. It's just a dream."

"No Arthur, the hell it isn't. Adil died half an hour ago. You left him. You left him, Arthur, like you left me and went to war. And then you left me in here –" she pointed to her heart "when I agreed to work for that NGO that thought war was the most stupid thing on earth and…" Hanks had his hand over her mouth again.

"Quit whining, bitch." His expression was livid. "Major Darling, hand me the information or she will die."

The click of Eames' safety was echoed by a gunshot sending him to the floor, not yet dead but bleeding from a chest wound.

"Damn it, Arthur, kill them!" He rasped, writhing in agony.

"Your sister is dead if you try." Hanks informed him.

"This is a dream, Captain. Only a dream. I can kill myself and wake up. Easy as that." _Stay calm_, Arthur repeated silently. _Stay calm_.

"You think so? And what makes you so sure?"

"My tutor on the other side of the headphones." Arthur replied. "isn't that so, Mr. Davis?" The speakers stayed silent.

"Major General Reed? Major General Bernstein?" Silence. Arthur was beginning to feel cold sweat trickling down his back.

Hanks smirked. He removed his hand from Charlotte's mouth.

"Arthur, this is real! I'm real! What are you talking about? Adil just died, you remember him, don't you? Adil Allatif,…"

"… aged six." Arthur finished the sentence, lowering the rifle.

"Arthur!" Eames said through gritted teeth, bloody blebs popping on the corners of his mouth.

Hanks smiled and pulled out a handgun. "Either you give me that paper or your sister kisses the pistol. You have the choice."

"Arthur! Please!" Charlotte panicked, he could see that look in her eyes he knew so well. That look she had had when there had been a power cut and their parents were out shopping, the dark trees knocking on every window and the wind howling around every corner. The look she had when he had picked her up the night she attempted to walk home on her own and had called him, she thought someone followed her. His Charlotte. His sister.

Trembling, Arthur pulled out the paper. Hanks grinned. Charlotte screamed. The dream crumbled.

-/-

**Phew, how did you like it? Good? Bad? Horrible? Tell me whatever you think… :-)**

**And here the translation:**

"**Merhaba." **_**Hello**_

"**Issm Adil." **_**My name is Adil.**_

"**Merhaba Adil. Issm Arthur." **_**Hello Adil, my name is Arthur.**_

"**Hal anta min Kabul?" **_**Are you from Kabul?**_

"**La." **_**No.**_** "Ana min… ana min…" **_**I'm from… I'm from…**_

**I hope everything's correct. I tried to write it in latin letters, and I think the pronunciation gets quite clear. But don't hesitate to point out mistakes, I usually only write in Arabic letters and started learning it recently.**

**So, reviews are loved, and thanks for reading anyway!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Here we are again! Inspiration hit me on the train today, so this may seem a little hurried because I'm writing it down as fast as I can. **

**WARNING: Do not read if you dislike violence/fistfights/heavy swearing! Reviews are loved as always. Though I honestly think the high time of Inception FF are over :-( Just to add a little something: The surname 'Darling' for Arthur was used on FF before in a wonderful story, but damn it, I can't find it anymore :-(**

**So, read, review and enjoy ;-)**

**EDIT: CHAPTER REDONE!**

The classroom door closed behind them, leaving Eames and Arthur in the sterile, cold corridor to them selves.

"Bloody Bugger!" Eames landed the first punch right in Arthur's gut sending him into the wall. The second broke his nose. Red blood pooled onto the neat white shirt collar and maculated the tie knot.

"Asshole!" A third punch hit home somewhere between the third and fourth rib. Arthur staggered towards Eames, clawing his collar and nearly tearing the shirt. The next blow came a little more expected, still quite painful.

"Cut the crap!" Arthur moaned and smacked Eames against the larynx with the edge of his hand. The Commander staggered backwards hitting the doorframe with a sickening 'splat'. Blood oozed from the cut. He brought both his hands to his throat, panting, struggling for air. Seconds later he was back on Arthur and they crashed to the floor as a huge ball of tangled limbs and half-stifled swear words.

"What the fuck was that, Arthur? You messed it up like the biggest twat I ever knew." He was trying to wrench himself from the tight grip of his opponent.

"Wouldn't you have too?" Arthur forced from behind gritted teeth and kicked at Eames' shin.

"You ended my career here and now!" Eames spat.

"And mine as well, don't forget that!" They were moving dangerously close to the staircase.

"That means I'm out, stupid fucker, they'll court-martial me and I can go back to repairing cars!"

Panting, they let go of each other and backed into opposite walls.

"Court-martial you?"

"This was my last chance. The forging I did? They sent me here to save my own ass, and if I fail and have to go back to Hackney then I'll make you pay for it!" Eames glared at Arthur, clutching his rib cage.

Silence hung in the air, pregnant with accusations and thick like the already clotting blood.

"You probably should have thought about that earlier, having no choice makes people desperate." Arthur scoffed and knew in the same second that he had crossed the famous line.

"Sod off." Eames said quietly. "I'm not blaming you for having family, you know. I wish I had. But -" he continued a lot louder with his index finger pointing at Arthur "I am blaming you for being the pussy you are, for messing the whole fuck up, for probably losing me my job, my reputation and the one thing that ever counted to me in life. This is doing my duty. I'm not only serving my country, I am fulfilling a promise I gave a dying man, and god have mercy with you if I fail." The outstretched finger trembled. Commander Eames was white in the face, his lips a thin line, sweat and blood mixing on his temple.

Again silence wrapped around them echoing off the walls so loud it hurt.

"I'm so-" Arthur started, but Eames simply shook his head and started limping down the stairs. At the foot he turned round one last time.

"Stay away from me, Major Darling, or you'll dearly regret it."

* * *

Arthur used his rolled up tie to soak up the blood and walked towards the hospital wing. It was drizzling and most of the military around turned up their collars, hurrying to get back inside. He lingered at the door of the hospital and pulled out a cigarette.

The doors swung open and a doctor came out, wrapping the white coat tighter. He also propped a cigarette between his lips and searched his pockets for a lighter.

Without a word spoken Arthur gave him light. The other man nodded and for a few seconds both of them smoked in silence.

"Your nose looks pretty bad." The elderly doctor said without looking at Arthur.

"Yeah." He paused. "Tripped over a chair. Stupid. If my tutor knew he'd probably send me home. Don't think they could deal with halfwits at the moment."

"I see. That chair must have a brutal left hook." The doctor said, pointing to a flowering bruise emerging on Arthur's cheek bone, then stared into the drizzle. Arthur smirked.

"Want me to have a look?" The doctor asked and discarded his cigarette into a puddle. Smiling weakly Arthur followed him inside.

* * *

The nose bandage didn't trouble him too much on the shooting range. Arthur took down the black silhouettes before they were even properly popping up.

Bang! _I must not overreact_

Bang! _I must not show feelings_

Bang! _I must not have feelings_

Bang! _I must disguise who I am_

Bang! _I must become someone new_

Bang! _I must become someone invulnerable and cold_

He lowered the rifle. Major General Reed was watching him from behind. Arthur took off the ear protectors, klicked the safety in and straightened his shoulders. _Invulnerable, cold_.

Major General Reed slowly paced the green linoleum floor muffling his footsteps. He came to stand next to Arthur and watched the silhouettes zooming up to them, swaying a little as the conveyor belt dragged them along the range until they shuddered to a halt.

"Have you ever considered training as a sharp shooter?" Reed asked as he counted the bullet holes.

"Yes, Sir."

"When?"

"During basic training, Sir."

"Then why did you become a pilot?"

"Family tradition, Sir."

Reed turned to face Arthur. His eyes were cool, grey, but still gentle.

"Do you think that this-" Arthur knew he meant Dreamsharing "is your future?"

"Yes, Sir. It's my life."

"You screwed up your session today."

Arthur chewed his lower lip before answering.

"Please don't dismiss Commander Eames. This is his dream, he is here to take a unique chance. I messed things up, I deserve to get sacked, not him."

"Charming how you stick up for him." Reed turned towards the silhouettes. "But I ask you to leave that decision to us."

"Sir, there is something I don't understand."

"Go ahead."

Arthur put the rifle back in the stand before taking a deep breath and turning back to Reed.

"I saw my sister. The whole story with the NGO came up. You know what happened. But why did the projections act so - intelligent? If it was my dream, and if it was your camp, then it must have been your projections. But how did they know about Charlotte? I mean..."

"I see. You are right... and wrong. They were no projections. They were dreamers sent in after you. I admit; a little unfair putting you under emotional pressure, but in extreme situations, for example after tragic loss or, perhaps even worse, in case of great emotional bonds between you and someone else-" here he winked at Arthur "your own subconcious slips in with you and produces phantoms of your memory. We call them shadows. As I said, only in extreme situations. The girl you saw was actually a very talented forger. A colonel from Massachusettes, probably one of the best we have. We have records on you referring to every detail so it was no problem tricking you into believing her kidnapping."

"Details?" He asked.

Reed smiled and unbuttoned his jacket. "You hate chaos. You only write with black pens. You adore your sister. The scar on your back is from falling down the stairs of an aircraft. Your first girlfriend was Melissa Reynolds who dumped you for Ethan Burke. You can't stand big rooms or open spaces, also known as agoraphobia, and you can't fall to sleep with your back turned to the room. Your clothes in your closet are sorted by colour." Reed paused. "You don't know your uncle because he was dishonourably discharged which makes you question your father's love for his brother."

Arthur gulped. "Um..."

"We thought it would be good to test how you reacted to emotional stress. Get a grip on that, boy." Major General Reed smiled.

"How did you find out?"

"Well, boasting has never been my favourite, but I am the best Point Man there is. Collecting information so I know the target better than it knows itself."

"I thought about heading for that position but I probably should get packing." Arthur said and headed towards the door.

"It's a lonely job. No wife, no family, no children." Reed called after him. "Do you really want that?"

Arthur turned back round. "I don't think I still have to worry about making a decision."

Reed watched Arthur leave the building and followed the dark sport over the campus. What had once been a small bundle in his arms was now one of the best soldiers he knew. Determined, modest, and still wet clay in his hands. A true Darling offspring.

* * *

Waiting for their dismissal proved to be the most difficult task on earth. It was worse than waiting for Christmas or for Graduation results, this was one level up. Or two.

Arthur didn't dare to look Eames directly in the eye. He had the nasty cut on his temple stitched, but it still looked very painful.

Ronnie McAsh and the French guy both left the office with sad faces and the answer to Eames' question ("Where are ye going, Ronnie?" – "Packing") made Arthur's stomach turn.

At last they were called in.

Avoiding each other like the plague they sat down in front of Davis, Reed and Bernstein.

It was Bernstein who addressed them first.

"Your practice run this morning was – well, bottom of the barrel. It would only be fair to send the two of you home." Arthur closed his eyes. His nose was throbbing painfully.

"But we have experienced some great camaraderie and trust between you, Commander Eames, Major Darling. That is probably the most important fundament for a work taking place inside other people's heads."

Reed took out two envelopes. "These, Gentlemen, are your further instructions. Dismissed!"

Davis gave them two thumps up.

Besides feeling happy, Arthur felt weary and empty. Wasn't this what he had hoped for? His dream come true? He would have to prove himself worthy and sure as hell Eames would do anything to sabotage him. The Brit didn't even look at him when they left the office. He headed straight towards the dorms and didn't turn round for a word of excuse. Arthur didn't expect him to be the 'let's-talk-about-it-type' but still this behaviour offended him a little. Having Eames as a rival and not as a partner would make things a lot more complicated.

Before drifting off to sleep Arthur thought about the life he was beginning to lead. A lonely life sealed with top-secret stickers and locked away in a sliver suitcase. Turner's snoring morphed to gunfire in his dreams rattling rhythmically as the afghani hospital emerged from the monochrome desert. Adil was sitting there on his bed, his perpetually scorched hand clawing the sheets. They nodded their silent goodbyes. It was the last time he ever dreamed of him.

**Ok, I redid this chapter. Sorry I was gone for so long, University just keeps me on my knees... I hope to continue this story and I also hope you have not abandoned me :)**


	7. Chapter 7

**Hellooooo :-) I missed you guys, honestly. So I'm back and the show goes on. First of all: you might want to re-read the last chapter as I redid it! I hope you are not too upset with me for picking this fight between the boys, but this rivalry has to come from somewhere. While watching the film I thought: they regard each other and the other's talent, but at some stage in their life they must have been rivals, always keeping a careful eye on the other one. On the other hand I think they went through a situation that brought them very close together (which is still to come in this fic). Well, read and enjoy, my friends!**

Arthur snapped his phone shut and waited for his mother's voice to fade away inside his head. He had been gone for three months now and the air got thinner. Eames' behaviour was best described as hostile while Turner proved to be a first class brown-noser, every second sentence seemed to be 'yes sir' or 'no sir', which made him deaf to Arthur's need of discussing things. 'Things'; that was all the strange feelings he had when finishing a day's training, heading back to his dorm, questioning the methods and purposes and eventually drifting off to a fretful (and thank god) dreamless sleep. Somehow he was losing the grip on things. His psychological tests were top notch, he was reliable and catching on to new things quickly. But something bothered him, something was missing. Since the first few weeks in Camp Erne the question WHY he did all this kept preying on his mind. The official reasons were easy. Dream Sharing had been invented for physical training without physical damage first, but soon the Army favoured its other benefits: Extraction. Mind theft. Reed had been quite clear about the use of this powerful feature. Only on enemies, only in order to gather information on hostages or plans that involved American soldiers getting killed, for example planned ambushes. Arthur was sure he got along with the moral codex, it was easy: good guys try to save their buddies from getting killed by bad guys. Mind theft only made him feel uneasy because it was a new technology, a secret technology. At least that was what he told himself.

Arthur shoved the cell phone into the pocket of his blazer, readjusted the tie and buttoned the blazer up. He winked at the mirror before following Turner out of the room.

"You think you'll manage?" He asked his comrade as they strode towards the main building.

"Major General Bernstein says we were trained to succeed, and so we will."

"Ah, that's what Bernstein says. Yesterday he said the damn rain would stop and the cantine would come up with something new. Now what? It's still raining and we had broccoli for like the sixth time in two weeks."

"Major General Bernstein wouldn't approve of your criticism, I think."

"The hell he won't" Arthur scoffed and held open the door for them. With one last look at the soppy November weather he turned to walk down the corridor. Eames had taught him (although no words had been spoken since that day weeks ago) one thing: respecting authorities was a good thing if you did it once in a while, not on a daily basis. Although Eames was 'only' Commander he always seemed to get his way, even with Reed, who favoured a clear hierarchy and no fussing about when it came to rules.

Arthur settled on the frugal chaise longue and tried to calm his furiously beating heart. Today was another of those crucial days where one little mistake could end your career here and now. The task was to go into a three layer dream, receive the kicks and come back mentally sane. It didn't sound too difficult and they had practiced before, but Arthur knew this was not as simple as he wanted it to be. With the soft hiss of the PASIV darkness rushed over him like a surging tidal wave washing him onto the shore of someone's subconscious.

* * *

The first thing he sensed was irritation. Nothing had changed. He was still in the small room with other sleepers, among them Eames and Turner. Their eyeballs moved vividly beyond the lids, hands were clutching stiff uniform fabric or were clenched to fists.

Arthur blinked. Nothing. Still there. He pulled the needle from his wrist and got up. Some adjutant he didn't know was watching carefully over the different vials and cases, only looking up briefly as Arthur passed him and opened the door to the corridor. He had to find a PASIV to link on to in time, he would go as deep as the third level and – if everything went according to plan – he would ride the kick up to the surface. The klick of the safety on his gun echoed along the empty corridor. Someone was down here with him, and that made him shiver.

The second PASIV stood in Reed's office on the desk, ready to use. Arthur searched the room for explosives he knew were stored somewhere. As he pulled open drawers and filed through the bookshelf he found a picture of a much younger Reed holding a little black haired baby. What really caught Arthur's attention was the rear fender of a dark Mercedes in the left hand corner, the end of the number plate barely visible, but what stuck out well was a small sticker featuring the American flag. His mother used to have a car like that with a sticker like that. On the other hand, probably everyone linked to an American soldier had this sticker somewhere on their car. Arthur put the picture back, but a sick little idea had formed in the back of his head and refused to go back on the shelf alongside the delicate frame and faded photograph. The explosives were hidden in Reed's briefcase and Arthur rushed out of the room and downstairs to stick them to the ceiling of the office below. The first kick.

Once again he pushed the button and sank even deeper into someone else's mind without thinking of the photo again.

* * *

Arthur awoke with a start to the noise of someone clearing his throat. Reed stood in the doorway, cap in hands, smiling down at him.

"Catching up with your circadian rhythm?" The Major General joked.

"Um… I'm sorry Sir." Arthur sat up straight and looked at the still open PASIV. Its display flashed no digits at him, and he wasn't sure if that was a bad or a good sign. But then again if he was supposed to wake up on a PASIV in a level he had just entered it would of course not show a timer, because he hadn't set one.

Reed gestured at the briefcase. "I hope you didn't expect lucid dreaming. The darn thing is broken since last week. God knows when they get around to fixing it."

Arthur froze. And for the first time in his training he wasn't sure if he was dreaming or waking.

"B-broken you said?" He stammered and ruggedly ripped the IV from his arm.

"Yes." Reed shot him a quizzical look.

"Excuse me, Sir." Arthur mumbled and raced outside the door. He ran along the corridor and jerked the door to the last room on the left open. Sure as hell, there they were – Eames, Turner, the others: sleeping peacefully while his own lounge chair was empty. The adjutant gestured him to get out, and Arthur turned on the heel, slamming the door behind him shut.

_Is this a dream? Please let this be a fucking dream!_

His heart raced, beads of sweat formed on his temple and trickled down beneath the collar of his shirt. The next PASIV waited in the basement. Arthur desperately searched for something to kick him, because no one had prepared a kick down here. The dimly lit corridors were mainly maintenance area, and after some seconds of thinking Arthur scanned the small labels of the different pipes leading over his head. Gas, hot water, cold water… he needed something that would wake him, something that would trigger the kick without killing him, as he knew that thanks to sedation death wouldn't bring him back up but hurl him into limbo. Whatever limbo was, but he chose to not find out. Cold water should do the trick. With one glance at his watch he hurried to the control panel. Carefully Arthur turned up the pressure inside the pipes. According to his (off the top of his head) calculations the pipes would explode under the rising pressure, drenching but not drowning him and thus waking him up.

Another hiss, another black wave – and he was down again.

* * *

Arthur tried to force his eyelids to stay shut, but they wouldn't. With one scream of fear, desperation and resignation he took in the maintenance corridor, the thick pipes above, the dimly lit walls leading off to the distance.

"Fuck!" he yelled into the darkness on either side of him. _Stay calm_, Arthur thought to himself. A look at his watch told him he had to get a move on. Gun toting he moved up the floors of the nearly deserted building until he came to the top. The rain was still pounding against the windows, the barracks were blurring from sight.

He opened the window.

Thirty seconds to go. Arthur felt sick like never before in his life. It was roughly twenty meters to the concrete below. Deadly, wet concrete. If this was a dream he would ride the kick safely back to the classroom. If it was not his tombstone would tell passers by that he had committed suicide before even reaching his twentythird birthday.

Arthur backed off from the window sill with another scream. He clenched the gun until his fingers went numb and doubled over. Panting he pressed both fists to the white of his shirt. Ten seconds.

"No!" He yelled into the empty yard below. "God damn it, no!"

Five.

Four.

He slipped as he placed his right foot in the windowsill.

Three.

Hopefully the wave of kicks was synchronised.

Two.

Rain drenched his uniform, wind whipped through his hair.

One.

Hopefully he….

Darkness.

* * *

Arthur woke up with a rhythmic 'beep' coming closer as the world came into focus. A young female doctor bent over him and pushed a strand of hair back into place.

"We're sorry for the overdose." She smiled softly and checked the needle in his arm, resting her warm fingers on his wrist.

"This is a dream." He muttered.

"No, this is Tuesday, November 3rd in Camp Erne and I'm rather real."

"Doctors are only beautiful in dreams." His headache was killing him, but he tried a lopsided grin. The doctor blushed and removed her hand from his.

"Thank you, Major Darling."

"Mind telling me why I'm here?"

"You didn't react to the sedation as we expected. Only a minor problem, you are allergic to one of the compounds. It's usually not used on normal sedations, more often contained in ataractics, so lots of people are allergic but never find out because they don't need psychotropic drugs." She smiled again. "Let the headache wear off and give us a shout when you're ready to go."

Arthur closed his eyes again. "Thanks." The cool cushion under his head helped a great deal. But the sick feeling was still there. Panic started to rise. _Keep calm_, he repeated over and over in his head. _Keep calm, you did it_.

That night after leaving the hospital wing he felt like hit by a bulldozer. Sometimes he thought about paying a visit to the shooting range, but there the temptation to put a bullet through his head to end the dream was far too big.

Still wavering between believing this was reality or believing this was a dream Arthur came to a decision. Leaving Turner's snoring behind him he crept outside their shared dorm in the middle of the night, manila folder in one hand, cell phone in the other. He had checked on the time zones to make sure it was no ungodly time in France at the moment. The number was at the end of the manila folder and he had quite some difficulties typing it without dropping his papers into one of the many puddles. At least the rain had stopped.

After several seconds someone picked up the phone across the ocean.

"_Bonjour."_

"Professor Dawson?"

"_Yes. Who's calling?"_ the elderly man changed into English as soon as he realized he was talking to an American.

"Major Arthur Darling from the Dream Sharing Programme. Squad Davis. I'm sorry for bothering you, Professor, but it's urgent."

"_What's the matter, Mister Darling?" _

"I think I'm losing my mind."

**Sorry for leaving you right there xD a little evil, maybe. Please tell me if I had any mistakes in the dream-or-reality sequence, it's been quite a while since I last saw the film. Apart from that I hope you enjoyed the chapter. I promise we'll have more interaction and different characters next time! For now I bid you goodnight (nearly midnight here) and a wonderful pre-christmas-season.**


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